Witness

Mr. Dixon required promptness, attention and participation. Those words were chalked in at the top of the black board behind his desk and remained there all year. I did not suffer his wrath on this November day in 1963. 

It was hard to make friends. My family had just moved to Colorado the summer of 1963 and I started Northglenn Junior High School in September. Status ranking in the hallway cliques among thirteen, fourteen and fifteen year olds is hard won and can be very fleeting. Just talking to skirts (girls) of a certain hierarchy could label you as stuck up.

Chatting with a favorite teacher might brand you a fink and tattletell, never again to be trusted with secrets like who has a crush on who.

So by November I continued to routinely walk from class to class alone having as yet to make any safe friends. This particular day I felt warm breath on my neck and knew I was being stalked. 

“Can I carry your books Sue?” 

I turned around coming face to face with Kenny. Kenny wore thick black rimmed glasses that he’d tape together over the nose bridge with something white. The hair cream he used always plastered his hair to his head giving it a greasy shiny look. Kenny was our panty waist science geek. He took every opportunity to pour liquids together in combinations he hoped would bubble over or mix powders and compounds poised to go boom as unsuspecting girls walked past. He was also always on the make. Kenny wanted a girlfriend in the worst way. Girls were often heard telling Kenny to flake off or take a hike but Kenny persevered. I was on his radar today.

“That’s ok Kenny. My locker’s right here,” I said while looking everywhere but at Kenny. It would not be wise to be seen speaking to the school’s best known nerd. I opened my locker and pulled out the American History book I’d been assigned for my next class, shut the locker and skirted past Kenny. 

Conversations and shuffling hallway noises abruptly ended as students opened and closed classroom doors hoping to beat the final bell. Thanks to Kenny, I did not make it to my desk in time and would soon be incurring Mr. Dixon’s wrath.

Besides a gigantic black board, there was only one other thing mounted on the cinder block wall behind Mr. Dixon’s desk. I can still see it fifty-eight years later. About twelve inches square, the front covered with speaker cloth, the PA system began its high pitched tuning before Mr. Williams, our principal made any public announcement. Today his announcement was earth shaking. The world tilted on its axis as he spoke.

“Attention everyone. I have an important announcement to make before I dismiss school for the day.”

Dismiss school? Puzzled looks were on all our faces including Mr. Dixon’s.  The room fell stone silent and I began to think the PA system had faulty wiring. It seemed forever before the principal spoke again. Finally sharp clipped words produced a sharp clipped statement.

“President Kennedy has been shot in Dallas, Texas. He died just a short time ago.”

Things happened in slow motion after that. All the air syphoned from the classroom as we tried to understand what just happened. Somebody got something wrong. Things like this don’t happen in our perfect world. People don’t get shot, especially not our president. But they do. Ninth grade silliness so important just moments ago, dissolved. Suddenly grief became our common ground. The PA box shocked me back into now as Mr. Williams continued with mundane instructions only barely heard.

“Bus students, your regular route buses are lined up out front. Please exit quietly. Walkers, you can also leave the building but use the cafeteria exit.” 

We could hear the little click indicating the public announcement system had been turned off. I felt as if my childhood had just been turned off as well. But that would be too simple. Far too simple. After that startling revelation, tears began. Even faces of school jocks whose reputations were built on being tough as nails were wet with tears. Sniffles and blowing nose honks were the only sounds on that long bus ride home. No one was chatting about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. It was okay to be sad. No one was teased.

I am sure every household had the news channel blaring as we each arrived home early. My mother never said a word. She was standing at the ironing board as I walked down the basement stairs. She just laid her iron aside to embrace me. We sat watching and crying together until we could no longer bear it.

Over the next six days our country was witness to multitudes of grieving tear streaked faces, a blood stained pink Chanel suit, a spontaneous inauguration aboard Air Force One, a grim marching funeral procession, a tightly grouped family walking up Pennsylvania Ave. behind a horse drawn flag draped casket, backward facing military boots suspended in saddle stirrups, a veil covered face and a saluting little boy. Camelot had fallen. 

Still not able to wrap our heads around the assassination, we were stunned to witness a second cold bolded murder played out live on television. In a heartbeat, the word normal took an awful turn. Mayhem continued. Soon afterward, two more beloved leaders would fall, each death making us more mindful of work that lay ahead.

This was the end and this was the beginning; the end of innocence in our country and the beginning of movement.  We could no longer hide behind a thin veneer of perfection, the wrongful attitude of equal. We could no longer plead ignorance. Truths were being live streamed into our living rooms and soon we would be witness to shocking scenes of violence from a country on the other side of the world.

That cold day deep in November 1963 changed my thinking. Teen years full of fun and dating still lay ahead of me and I would enjoy each one with flourish. Growing through those days mindful all the time of a role I might play, my chance to alter and possibly right some wrongs.

 Ushered in by the sixties, my generation was witness to and creator of many turbulent world changes. But that long ago November Friday will remain the day I grew up. The day I exchanged the word selfish for the word humanity.